Beyond the Looking Glass
by B. and the Jetts
Summary: Ok, Lucifer's out, and the Winchesters are not exactly loving each other right now. In the middle of tension and arguments, Dean gets sucked into another world and with no idea how to get back, he needs all the help he can get. Even if he hates it.
1. so sick and tired

_I hate to be denied_  
_How you hurt my pride_  
_I feel pushed aside_  
_But laugh, laugh, laugh_  
_I nearly died _

**Laugh, I nearly died** - The Rolling Stones

* * *

Ok... Maybe it wasn't exactly that what dad ment when about him taking care of his baby brother and tried to blend in, but come on... Dad wasn't comimg back until late at night, if – and that's a big if – he didn't find something else to kill out there and stayed away for another whole week – let's face it, it wouldn't be the first time – and Sammy was starting to forget the color of the sun and the sky.

Dean already said 375 times that they were "yellow" and "blue", in that order, but it didn't help. Not even one of the _three hundred and seventy five times_ helped. At all. And he knew he couldn't leave Sam alone... Not after Fitchberg – because even if the possibility of ruining it all and let Sammy die wasn't terrible enough, the punishment and the silent treatment dad gave him for a whole freggin month was even worse – and if he was going to desobey dad's orders, he was going all in.

If you keep staring at me me with that look on your face, I'm gonna lay back down on that bed and won't move an inch until I'm hungry again! And just so you know, I got 4 packs of M&M's stashed under my pillow!

- Dean – Sam whined, doing _that_ face – You have a knife under your pillow.

Yeah, right, like something like that could keep him from having a snack down there also...

- What can I tell you, Sammy? Work and fun can too wal side by side! – Dean smirked and Sam's face turned even more sour.

Dean shrugged, he really thought it was best not to do anything against dad's orders, even if he too was bored out of his mind inside the room.

- Did you mean it? – Sammy asked, suspicion coloring his tone – About going out?

- I _did_, but you just stood there, looking like an ass and complaining 'bout my totally reasonable stash of candy...

- No! – the younger one nealy yelled – No, no! I wasn't complaining, really, I wasn't... I just...

The look Sam casted his brother was pitiful, desperate.

- I can't hear you, Sammy... – Dean sounded distracted, fliping through a magazine without actually seeing the pages.

- Can we please, _please_, go outside?

- Just 'cause you said please.

- Jerk

- Whiny bitch.

Sam was just about ready to start bouncing off the walls, full of restrained energy and Dean wondered if a leash would really be _that_ evil.

- Where are we going?

- We can't go too far, dad's coming back and I don't want him to find us gone.

Dean almost heard Sam's eye roll.

- What?

- Nothing, Dean – Sam sighed.

Oh, that wasn't the end of it... There was a lecture coming in five, four, three, two, one...

- It's just that... – this time, Sam huffed – Why do you always have to do what dad tells you? He isn't God, you know?

- Yeah, I know... 'Cause if there was a God, you would know when to shut the hell up.

That did shut Sam up, but the way he shoved his hand in his pockets and began to kick the ground where classic signs that the fight wasn't over.

Making himself that a deep breath, Dean decided to pretend that _no_, there wasn't a huge black cloud hanging over their heads, but he couldn't help but to wonder when was the last time that they just talked without trying to bite each others heads off.

- There's a park over there – Dean pointed – We could go over there, kick the kids off the swings or something...

- Swings are for babies! – Sam grumbled, kicking a can loudly.

Dean shrugged.

- Well, I like it.

The walk felt longer with the heavy silence, but neither of the boys seemed willing to say anything else. Dean started to question if going out had been a good idea at all, especially when Sam had all those hormonal issues, probably had his period or something, 'cause it just wasn't possible to just one kid bitch so much and-

- Maybe the swings could be cool – Sam mumbled.

Stealing a look of his brother, Dean smiled.

- Whatever you want, Sammy – he said, because on that precise moment Sam was _Sammy_.

Sam wrinkled his nose, disgusted.

- I think I'm way too big for you to call me that.

- Call you what, Sammy?

- You're such a jerk...

- No I'm not, I'm awesome.

As promissed, Dean kicked the kids off the swings and Sam just couldn't hide how excited he really was.

It really was fun, or maybe staying in that crappy motel room made any dumb thing cooler than the best circus ever.

At least that was Dean's opinion, he liked circus. Sam, on the other hand, prefered to stay at a safe distance from any colorful wig and red nose. A safe distance of 500 miles.

- Look how high I can go! – Sammy yelled, throwing his head back.

- I can't!

- Why not?

- I'm going so much higher than you!

They bet on who could fly the highest, but it was a tie since Dean got tired of the game and jumped off the swing. His knee hit the ground, besides that, the landing was perfect.

Sam's eyes shined with awe, he could do the same, but he was groing into those ackward teen years and didn't have Dean's gracefull moves, not by a long shot. As far as Sam knew, Dean never even had an ackward fase. Gracefull jackass.

- We gotta go back – Dean said looking up.

- You can't tell time by the sun's position – Sam argued.

- But I do recognize the sunset, genius.

- Five more minutes, Dean... Just five more minutes!

Dean looked up and his lips started moving lightly. Sam was sure the older one was making calculations of the how long they would take to get back and what time dad said he would be home, and the kid's eyes rolled on their on account. Obviously they were breaking the rules, but Sam couldn't see what the big deal was! Of course he knew about the stuff that dad killed, he had even been there during a couple of the blood baths – and had to stich Dean up a lot more than a couple of times – but it there still was daylight, nobody there knew who they were and they could defend themselves pretty well and-

- Let's go, princess.

- What? No, Dean! Five more minutes, pleeeease... – Sam couldn't quite explain the look he on his own face, but he knew that it made Dean give in 99% of the times.

- The five minutes are over, Sammy – of course that this time was going to fit in the freggin 1%.

- Oh, yeah, like you spent the last five minutes thinking if we could stay five more minutes!

Dean shrugged.

- But it is so, little bro... I'm a guy that doesn't do much thinking, but when the thinking begins, there's a real effort to it.

- You suck! – Sam bitched, getting off the swing – That's what you are, a sucky guy!

But Dean wasn't paying atention anymore.

- Let's go, Sam.

- What? Why?

- Don't argue, let's just go!

Sam didn't find anything that could be that worrysome. Ok, it was really getting dark and they had to walk back to their room and there was a guy looking at them in this creepy kind of way- Oh... it was _probably_ that.

Without anymore complaints, Sam followed Dean closely, glued to the older one actually, 'cause he knew that if he needed any kind of protection, it would come from his brother.

It wasn't his favorite subject, since it made Dean sad, but Sam had stopped trusting his safety to his father a long time ago. Not entirely, after all he knew what John Winchester was capable of, but... When you're never there, it's really hard to protect anyone.

- Who is that, Dean? – Sam asked in a whisper, even if it wasn't necessary, instinct always spoke louder.

- No one.

- Then why are we walking so fast?

Dean glared at his brother for a moment. Goddamn, this kid asked a lot of questions!

Maybe it was best to answer, silence only scared Sam all the more, but the truth is that Dean had no idea who the guy was, just had a felling of impending doom weighting on his shoulders. It always happened, if there was anything wrong, Dean felt a pressure point between his shoulders, on the base of his neck. A beginning of a neck pain that made his movements stiff until the thing or person that was bothering him went away.

And that dude bothered him. Maybe he had seen him before, it felt like it, a kind of déjà vu over seeing the guy on the same shop he bought Sam's cereal, and next to the motel's desk, and... It couldn't be _the same_ guy, could it?

Anyhow, being the same dude or not, Dean had the need to put himself and his brother as far away as possible from the creepy looking guy.

xo0ox

John felt so ridiculously tired that the mere sight of the motel sign almost brought tears to his eyes. Everything that he went through didn't matter anymore, the creature was dead, his boyes were right there and he could finally rest.

He parked the Impala close to the bedroom door and he had barely turned off the engine when he realised that there was something just not right. Nothing seemed diferent, but still...

The he got it. Dean wasn't peeking through the door or the window and every time John got back the older boy was craning his neck through any crack he could find just to get a glance of his father before sneacking back to bed and pretend he wasn't hovering. It didn't matter what time it was, Dean knew the sound of the Impala, would recognize it even in his sleep, but this time? No sign of him.

Fighting against the overwhelming desire to run inside to check on his boys, John let the hunter take over and walked silently to the door, and dammit, he was really tired, so patheticly tired that only now he saw that the fucking door was off it's hinges, just leaning over the place it was supposed to be, keeping the inside of the room away from strangers eyes.

And if it had to be hidden, it simply wans't a good thing.

- Dean? – John called – Sammy?

- Dad? – Sam's small voice answered.

John pushed the door, making it fall to the ground and there was so much to see in the room, that for a moment, he couldn't see a thing.

When he finally focused enough, the firt thing his eyes met was his eldest son, with a blood trail running down the side of his face, holding a shotgun pointed directly at the door.

- Son? Put the gun down.

- Dean, it's dad! – Sam claimed from his hiding place.

Dean didn't seem to believe even for a second.

- No.

John stepped fowars slowly, apprehensively, he had tought his sons that they were never supposed to point a gun at someone if they didn't mean to shoot, and indecison wasn't Dean's problem at that moment.

- He crossed the salt line – Sam tried to calm his brother down.

- It's broken – Dean answered in a blink – It's fucking useless.

- Language, boy – John warned automaticly.

- Yeah... – Dean laughed curtly, without any humor – Good one. Sounded just like him.

_What happened there? What the fuck was all that?_

- Dean, it's me...

- Dean? – Sam called.

The boy stepped back, the gun didn't waver, still locked on it's target, he peeked from the corner of his eyes to check what Sam wanted and nodded.

On the next instant, John was soaking wet and Sam had disappeared back to his hiding place behind the bed.

Holly water.

- Is that proof enough for you? – he asked Dean, relief flooding his body at the sight of the precautions the boys were taking, but still yearning to run to them.

But there was no reply from Dean, who just kept staring at his dad with wild eyes, weird and disturbed.

- Christo – Dean said quickly and it felt like a long minute until he blinked again.

John never breathed for the same amount of time, then risked a step foward and the shouldes of his eldest relaxed. Cue the running.

- What happened? – he asked, kneeling in front of the boy.

- I'm ok. Check Sam.

And that's what John did, checked the youngest, looking for an explanation that he probably wouldn't be getting from Dean for a while.

Sammy got up slowly, his eyes darting around the room before settling on his father.

- A guy broke in. He knew we were alone, said that he tought we were sleeping, but that with the both of us awake it would be a lot better anyway – he scratched his head, sitting down on the end of the bed – He didn't know who we were, he wasn't a... Wasn't anything supernatural. He didn't know we knew how to use guns, and also didn't know that the guns we knew how to use were loaded.

By the nunber of times Sam repeated the word "know", it was pretty clear how much the boy was shaken, even if he was pretending not to be.

- Did you shoot him, Dean? – John asked while searching Sam for any wounds, but beside a bump in the head and a few scratches, he seemed fine – Dean?

But the boy was still standing in the exact same posision, the shotgun pointing to the door, just waiting for something stupid enough to cross the threshold.

- He just bled – Dean mumbled – There was no smoke, no disapearing into thin air, he just... looked in pain and surprised. Because he was human.

Sam's jeans had blood on them, but it was a small cut, John was still worrying about it when he heard the kid call his brother.

- Dean? – and when Dean never answered – Dad?

- Son – John tried to sound gentle and loving, but was out of practice – It's over.

He pushed the Dean's gun down, making it touch the floor, then repeated:

- It's over.

For the first time, the boys's eyes were not on the door, trying to figure out why he was aiming at the floor, then looked at his father.

- Is it really over?

- Yeah, son... It's over.

_How could I not have noticed his eyes?_ John wanted to kick himself. He wasn't sure under the faint light, but Dean's pupil seemed blown, making his eyes look dark, and suddely that wound on the side of the kid's head seemed so much more important.

- You know, dad... – Dean began, slowly, eyes moving constantly between the door and his dad – The suff we hunt, the ghosts, those creatures, all that supernatural crap, I kinda get. I mean, they're just doing... what they _have_ to do! But people, regular humans... They're crazy.

John was lost in thought – part of him just agreed with his son, the rest just felt bad for the kid, knowing those kind of things at such a young age – when Dean's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his legs weren't able to hold the weight of his body, making him crumble to the ground.

- DEAN! – Sam yelled, but John caught his son before he could hit the ground.

Well... The kid got that right. People were crazy.

xo0ox

Dean was tired. Infact, he felt like he had died and someone warmed his putrid corpse, because there was just no way thar anyone could feel _that_ tired.

_Then again, with my luck..._

Why is the store so foggy? Oh... It was just the thing that was missing, needing glasses. Dean bowed his head and rubbed his eyes.

They needed a break. The fucking Apocalipse was there, of course they needed a break. The problem was, beyond the end of the world obviously, was that no one had a break to spare.

Sammy was diferent. Dean ran his hand over his face again, of course Sammy was diferent, that bitch Ruby made sure to mess up his head... At least she was dead. But they still needed a break.

About one thing that annoying bitch Ruby was right, after seeing Hell first hand, Dean couldn't even look at the TV if Hellraiser was playing. But then again, reality made Pinhead look like child's play.

Dean walked into the store thinking about his brother. He wasn't sure if he could trust Sam's judgement anymore, after all, the guy lied, drank demon blood, and freed Lucifer. _I just broke the first seal, no biggie._

Squeazing his eyes, trying to get things back to focus, he picked up a pack of peanut M&M's, his mands well trained in the art of finding-not-so-eatable-and-potentialy-deadly-stuff, but Dean knew it was better to eat all the junk food he wanted now, because things being the way they were, there was just no way that he would get to grow old and actually have a problem about his eating habits.

Beer, snacks, hmmm... Twix. Ok, the fruity stuff Sam asked for... Yeah. Time to go back to the nasty motel bedroom, take a shower on the desease infested bathroom, and throw himself into the filthy bed to get some peacefull sleep. Like things could be that simple.

His foot barely touched the sidewalk in front of the store and Dean already knew that there was something wrong. He couldn't see anything diferent, but that pressure point on the base of his neck was pointing out – pretty loudly, if you ask him – that something was just not right, making the hair at the back of his neck stand up. And he didn't have even 40 minutes of any kind of his so much wanted sleep.

The comforting weight of the gun on the back of his pants made him keep walking, especially because Dean still didn't know what was happening and keep moving was just as good a tatic as any.

Dean was at the room's door on half the time he took to get to the store. Nothing showed up, but the feeling remained.

- Sam? – he called, opening the door and fiding his brother passed out on the bed further from the door.

Legs hanging out of the matress, fully dressed. Apparently Sasquatch was even more tired than Dean had assumed at first. But the thing is, Dean was still up because the Wookie just had to have that fucking bread that looked like shit and tasted like paper, so...

- SAM! – Dean yelled at the top of his lungs, kicking his brothers legs.

- What? What? – Sam jumped out of his skin and found Dean smiling, sitting on the edge of the other bed – What, Dean?

- I brought the stuff you asked.

- You didn't wake me up just for that. – Sam waited an answer, any answer – I hate you.

- Ah, Sammy... I couldn't let you sleep all crumpled up like that! – Dean smiled and popped a couple of M&M's into his mouth.

Sam only glared back and Dean's smile grew wider.

- Aren't you going to talk 'bout what hapenned? – Sam asked lowering his voice.

- It already hapenned, can't do anything about it anymore.

- Dean! We opened Lucifer's cage! – Dean arched a brow – Allright, _I_ opened Lucifer's cage. Even after everything that went on with Ruby, you're just gonna let it go?

- Yup.

- You know we need to talk about this.

- No, Sam! – Dean got up – I know I need to take a shower and go to bed.

- But, Dean...

Dean answered by throwing his t-shirt at his brothers face and disapeared into the bathroom. If they didn't talk about it, it wouldn't exist. Yeah. Dean was sure of that. Almost.

The hot water falling on his shoulders made everything seem so far away, wich was a good thing since sooner or later, Sam would get them to talk. And a fleeting thought made Dean wonder what would happen if that talk came after a relapse from Sam. He had already killed Ruby so this time he wouldn't have anyone to lash out on.

That bitch.

When he came out of the bathroom, Sam was already sleeping again, this time in a more conventional position, even if it didn't really appeared comfortable.

Actually, he looked strangly like a pretzel.

Still, following his brothers lead, Dean just let himself fall on the bed, pretending he hadn't been avoiding _the_ talk with Sam for a month now, pretending that _no, that's not the Apocalypse knocking on my door, thank you very much_, and finallt, pretending that yeah, God's in heaven, everything is allright with the world.

The next morning and Dean was still pretending. Not 'bout the Apocalypse, that was kinda hard to ignore, but Sam? He could actually look at Sam and see the too tall gangly kid that should move ackwardly, but didn't. The nerdy know-it-all kid, Encyclopedia of the Weird, that asked too many questions and always gave crap to dad. And not the guy he called a brother, but wasn't even sure if he knew him at all.

Ok, maybe Dean wans't pretending all that well, but nobody could say he didn't try.

- Breakfest, Sammy? – he asked while finishing cleaning the last his blades.

- Dean...

Oh Jesus... That tone again...

- I'm hungry, Sam – Dean stated, going to the door without a look back.

- This has got to stop now! – Sam demanded.

Dean closed his eyes, a hand on the doornob.

- This is going to stop when I say it has to stop.

He opened the door and was faced with bright shining eyes.

- DEAN!

Sam's voice screaming his name was the last thing Dean heard before everything vanished.

* * *

**A/N.: **So yeah... There ya go! My first Supernatural story ever, and the first thing I wrote in english that didn't suck.

At least I think so, you guys are actually gonna be the judges of that... So... Be gentle? I wrote all of this in portuguese and translated it, and that's harder then writing directly in english, so I'm not sure if everything is understandable.

But, if it helps, I promisse that I'm gonna get better!

Hope you like it, and hoping even more that you send me some love by clicking in that cute little button down there and send me some feedback!

See ya next time!


	2. you know where you are?

_Welcome to the jungle_  
_It gets worse here everyday_  
_Ya learn ta live like an animal_  
_In the jungle where we play _

**Welcome to the Jungle** - Guns N' Roses

* * *

Dean openned his eyes.

No motel room, no weird shining eyes, no Sammy. What the fuck just happened?

His hand was still on the doorknob, but this one was different.

"You think you can just leave?" a drunk voice asked, obviously pissed, but Dean didn't turn around.

That couldn't be with him. Wherever he was, he didn't have the time to... well, do anything! Dean liked to create some sort of mayhem just as much as the next person, but this time it just couldn't be his fault.

"Hey! You think fooling around with my wife is funny?"

Well... Maybe he _could_ be involved.

"I'm in a hurry" Dean answered without looking back, inching towards the door.

And when freedom was close, _oh so close_, something that could've been a chair one day crashed on the wall, covering his jacket in wood chips.

"Get back here!"

Ahm... No.

The back door was unlocked and fortunately the poor bastard was too busy yelling threats to actually fulfill any of them.

Dean checked his surroundings, trying to figure out where he could be, and the neighborhood seemed... normal. White picket fence houses, with blue shutters, green lawns, and kids riding bikes. The only thing that didn't fit there beside himself, was the Impala, parked in a garage on the other side of the streed, four houses away.

"This is ridiculous" Dean grumbled. It wasn't just that he was feeling inadequate, that was the very definition of the walk of shame! Come on, the kids were shying away from him! _In fear!_

Like he was Freddy fucking Krueger.

And here he was thinking he was good with kids...

Trying to pretend that the terrorized stares, Dean started to do inventory:

- clothes? Check. Weren't the same from... this morning? Yeah. Whatever.

- weapons? Check. All in their rightful places and some more he didn't even remember.

- motel room? Half check. There was a room, but it wasn't a motel and it wasn't his.

- Sam? No sign whatsoever.

- Impala? Check in one second.

Ok, that's taken care of, so... Cue desperation.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out how to merge with the scenary so that everyone just stopped staring at him, instead, he found a set of keys. So far so good, after all he _needed_ keys for stuff like starting the car, but the Impala keys weren't the only ones there.

Standing on the driveway next to his girl, Dean caressed the hood – to show some love – and stared at the house's red door. _I see a red door and I want to paint it black..._

Well, there ya go. Mental break down all done and paid for, and he was singing Rolling Stones to a frecking door. At least now the investigation could go on.

Looking ato both sides of the street, Dean expected – hoped, really – that someone would stop him, but everyone was too busy looking scared out of their pants and diverting their eyes to do anything else, so he kept going.

The unknown key opened the red door.

The inside of the house was... The inside of a house. Completely anticlimactic. With nothing else to do until someone or something gave him a clue of what in the name of God was going on, Dean thought "Eh, what the hell" and went in. It all smelled of dry blood, not completely dried clothes and gunpowder.

Strangely, that combination made Dean feel at home. Add some mold or something unidentifiable, that obviously couldn't come from anything good, and it would be the perfect description of Dean's childhood smells. Or at least the smell of more than half of the rooms and abandoned houses – "in need of some handy word" as John used to call them, hypocritical son of a bitch – that he and Sam grew up in.

Another step and no sound but the creaking of the floorboards under his weight. Either the house was empty, or everyone who lived there was incredibly silent. A voice that sounded a lot like Sam's whispered in his head: _Or maybe they're just asleep, genious._

And shit, that made sense too.

So, as a safety mesure, Dean kept silent and let the floorboards be the only noise there. The living room was small, with a couch, a coffee table and a TV, all littered with half eaten snack boxes, crumpled napkins and empty beer bottles. Whoever owns this house, obviously lived like a king.

Another room, a little more trash, but no leads. Dean didn't even try the kitchen, the fungus growing around in there were probably toxic, and possibly full of sharp teeth, the stairs seemed like the safer choice.

"Who knows? Maybe they even left a trail of trash for me to follow" Dean said out loud, the silence was getting to him.

And no, there wasn't a trail of trash, but a lot of muddy footprints on the steps – some kinda looked like dried blood, but he was no expert – and all of them led to the same door.

Of all the things Dean thought he would find, that room was... What's that word? Oh, yeah, fucking _awesome_! It was every adolescent boy's dream bedroom, at least it was Dean's dream bedroom when he was a teenager. Actually, Teen-Dean would've been happy with a room that had a real door, that really closed, with a lock or something. No, no, better yet: Dean wanted a room with a door when _Sam_ became a teenager.

The only place he had to hide from Sam's bitch fits was the bathroom, unfortunately dad caught on and called the rights on the hiding spot, totally screwing Dean over.

Back to the awesome room, the walls were completely covered in posters, from AC/DC, to a classic metalic blue Corvette, up until Abbey Clancy in a purple bikini and a gray hoodie.

_That chick is hot as fuck._

No. No, no. Down, boy... Focus.

Looking closely, not all the walls were covered with bands, cars, and fine women, the bigger one, by the side of the door, was this huge mural with tiny pins holding up newspaper articles, some from the internet. There was also pictures, but of course none of them was nearly as pleasant as Abbey Clancey, Dean was sure of that.

Vampires, ghouls, Women in White – he hated those bitches – were some of the stuff shown there. He understood perfectly that demented, kinda genious, method of conecting information. A hunter lived there.

Which ment that his break in could get complicated any minute now. But, on the other hand, the Impala was parked out front and Dean did have the keys to the door...

And remembering that brought up the fucking elephant in the room, the biggest hardest question – since "Is that a joint?" asked by dad when Dean was 16 and though it was a good idea to try new things. Getting caught turned out to be a lousy idea – how the hell did he get there?

That was not a good place to be, the bedroom was freggin amazing, sure, but the house still belonged to a hunter and having the keys didn't really help at all.

This all had the stink of angel work, but so far, not even a feather to prove that the fuckers were in the perimeter.

He stood still for a couple of seconds, felling bad 'bout the breaking in and feeling like a douche for feeling bad, then remembered he didn't do that kind of thing – _feeling_ – and went back to snooping around.

It started t get boring when Dean realized that everything was pretty much where he thought it would be. And maybe that was what made the light bulb go on in his brain. 'Cause, come on, the clippings, picture, maps and even the few weapons spread all over every plain surface in what shouldn't be a organized mess, but was – kind of – the questionably clean clothes piled up in a chair, the other maps and posters pinned to the walls, all that screamed Dean Winchester. Or Unabomber, if he was being honest, but there were a lot more pictures of demons than of american presidents scribbled over or mutilated, even if one of those pictures over there, in the middle, kinda hidden, looked a lot like Bill Clinton.

Ok, all right, it wasn't Bill Clinton, not even a president, but it was a picture with real people, not monsters. Probably not even dad knew he had that picture, Sam had no clue. Usually, it stayed inside Dean's wallet, but it was right there... A blue candle on top of a piece of apple pie and Sam's skinny arms pulling Dean's t-shirt by the collar, while the two laughed histericaly.

That picture couldn't be there, but it was.

He wasn't school-smart like Sam, but he could do basic math:

Impala + house + keys to the door of the house + trash + AC/DC posters + birthday picture + weapons + Abbey Clancey = Winchester x (Dean)².

So... He had a house. With a white picket fence and a red door. In a seemingly respectable neighborhood, where all the kids were scared shitless of him.

Dean peeked through the window and yes, the Impala was still there, just looked a little bit more worn down, which was a crime on itself.

_What the fuck was going on here?_

"Cas?" he called out loud "Castiel?" and then felt stupid for standing there, talking to himself.

And it only got worse when there was no answer.

It felt like a great moment to just let the mental breakdown take over, but he had more places to explore before that.

xo0ox

Oh well. Exploring wasn't so thrilling as it seemed to be.

It really was _hishish__his_ house, there was no way to deny it after a closer look, it still made no sense whatsoever, but it was the truth.

And the fact that he couldn't fathom how he got there or how he, of all people, could own a house, still hadn't change, but hey! One thing at a time.

Dean went to the bathroom looking for the antipsychotic medication that should be around there, but then, he saw his reflection.

A scar began on the corner of his left eye and went down all the way to his chin. It was thin, but anyone could see that whoever put it there, was royally pissed.

And Dean _knew_ it wasn't there in the morning, just forty-somenthing minutes ago.

He was younger, with longer hair, not much, just enought that he could see the diference. he tried to see if anything else was different in his face, but the scar kept drawing his eyes.

It just shouldn't be there. Dean wanted to make a joke about women liking scars, but no one was there to hear it, and seriously? He was too freaked out to make any kind of joke. He should look what else had happened to his body. He should. Really should.

Another time... Yeah. Another time will work a lot better.

Inspite of the wrongness, at the same everything was... exactly right. His stuff was there, he could see his girl parked out front, he felt good, he could move every part of his body just as well as before, but... What happened?

Sam. He had to find Sam. Sasquatch should be going berserk by now, if not for Dean's act of disappearance, just because he didn't get to finish their argument.

With new found purpose, Dean strided to the car – barely looking around for the cheated husband, who might be the the avenger type – only to realize he had no idea where he was, how the hell could he get to Sam?

The wave of anger that hit him, was so strong he almost punched the car.

"Oh, sorry, baby..." he caressed the roof top "I wouldn't do that"

_That time with the crowbar doesn't count. Dad died, you know I wasn't in my best shape._

Dean sighed and lifted his face towards the sky, counting to 10. Getting desperate was not going to help and he was already on deep shit anyway. It could always get worse, he just had to work with the stuff at hand. And what, exactly was at hand?

Nothing. A big fat load of useless shit.

Oh, get a grip! Deep breaths...

Checking inside the trunk, Dean decided that it wasn't "nothing", he had all his hunting crap. And those would help. Probably. It was enerving to have everything like it was a regular day. Plus a possibly revengeful husband.

Closing the trunk and swiping his eyes back and forth through the street, Dean tried to come up with a plan of action.

Where the hell were those maps with the red "You are here" thingy when you needed one?

He got int the Impala and squeezed the steering wheel.

"This is not the end of the world! I mean... It is! But... Oh crap..."

Taking a deep breath and leaning his head on the wheel for a second, Dean made up his mind, started the car, and drove around with no destination, in a grounds recognition mission.

A few minutes had passed when he noticed that these streets looked familiar.

Wait a minute... He knew this place, he made a point of never coming here, so why the hell him, of all the sons of bitches spread around the world, would have a fucking _house_ right there?

Palo Alto, California. Fucking Stanford.

A wave of cursing and a small aneurysm later, the rumble of the Impala's engine finally calmed Dean down. He was still sweating, grinding his teeth and squeezing the steering wheel so hard that his fingers were getting numb, but, you know, calmer indeed.

It was obvious that this is not his universe, and painfully clear that somenthing was terrbily wrong, but could things have changed that much?

Stanford... No way out of this, it was the only place that made any sense going to in the moment. Or maybe, but it was the closest.

Even after 4 years, Dean's natural GPS system worked perfectly and getting to Sam's place was easy, but without knowing what he would find there, Dean would've been a lot happier if the path was harder or longer.

Dean went to the front door and back to the Impala five times, before he got the nerve to go inside and up the stairs.

Looking at his kid brother's door, once again Dean hesitated. He might be the weakest link – mentaly – in the Winchester chain, but even he knew that this time breaking and entry wasn't the brightest idea, so he knocked. A timid knock, but, yeah, a knock.

Sam opened the door, looking exausted and... young. A lot younger than he looked like in the motel a couple of hours ago, before Dean fell into... this... place... yeah.

"Sammy?"

The younger boy's eyes grew huge, completely surprised, and though Dean knew he wasn't gifted in the art of being sensitive or recognizing emotions, he saw when surprise became shock, when shock became anger and when anger became a fist flying towards his face.

"What the fuck, Sam?" he growled to his giant little brother, steping backward, holding his aching jaw.

That hurt like... Fuck!

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam sounded tired, pissy, and it was crystal clear that Dean wasn't out of the woods just yet and that a second punch was a very possible scenario. And, hey! Surprise! Shoot-first-ask-later was still the Winchester policy, it seems.

"Dude, what the hell just happened?" Dean almost stepped foward, but Sam's clenched fists changed his mind "What was that thing on the door?"

Sam's blank expression wasn't all that encouraging either.

"Are you drunk?" getting pissier and pissier by the second "Why'd you come here? Ruining my life and killing my girlfriend wasn't enough for you, Dean? You gonna finish the job?"

"What are you...? Sammy, this is serious!" the words were barely out of his mouth and Sam was charging with an armed punch, but this time, Dean had the presence of mind to deflect.

"Holly fuck, Sam!"

Sam grabbed his older brother's jacket.

"Don't ever call me Sammy" he growled menacingly, and pushed Dean off "Go away."

And the door slamed closed.

_What just...? FUCK!_

"Sam! Sammy, open the door!" Dean pretended not to notice the flicker of despair in his voice "What's going on?"

The distinct sound of a shotgun got Dean to let go of this hole brotherly love thing and just escape to the Impala's safety.

All of this was wrong, so, so wrong! Rubing a hand through his face, Dean remembered another wrong thing. So _fucking_ wrong!

I got punked by a freak with bright eyes, Sam hates me, I'm alone and there's a freaky ass looking scar on my face!

Bobby.

Yes. That was the answer. Bobby would know what is going on and would make everything go back to normal. Ok, normal's kind of a stretch for a Winchester, but he wanted his seick and twisted sense of normality back, 'cus this place sucks out loud.

Bobby. Yeah. Everything will get better as soon as he talks to Bobby.

Checking his watch, Dean did the math and if he drove like he always did – like a bat out of hell with a but load of crack up his ass – he could be at Bobby's in about 23 hours, but he felt like shit, his stomach was turning, his body was tired like he hadn't slept in days, though he knew he just woke up.

He could get some supplies and some rest before the road trip and with some luck, this whole thing was just a sick, _sick_, realistic nightmare and after a good nap, everything would be back to normal. _Yeah, right._

Crawling back to his white picket fence, red door house, straight to his freaking awesome room, Dean barely felt his body hitting the matress. He just wanted to sleep his way home.

xo0ox

Light. There was street light coming in from the window and that was actually annoying as crap, even through closed eyelids, but at least it meant it was morning. And maybe it was the right one.

Smell. Oil and gunpowder. The matress was more comfortable than he was used to, but it seemed like a bedroom, with a bit of luck in a skeevy motel on the side of the road. And maybe it was the right one.

He slowly opened his eyes. _God damn peripheral vision!_ Without even moving, Dean could see his surroundings and knew that it was the same room from the night before. Or yesterday's morning. Well... The wrong room.

It hadn't been a dream, definitely. Sucks-to-be-me, yadda yadda, knowing that didn't really help. At all. But it was the only thing he was sure. So, yeah... It really sucked to be Dean Winchester right now. What he also knew, was that when he felt tired, it was really freaking tired, he went out like a light and now, it was 5 a.m.

Dean sat on the bed and rubbed his face, still felling kinda creepy over his new face addition. Ok, ir he was going to be stuck in this place for God knows how long, he should find out what else is different, starting with his own body.

The bathroom never seemed so far away.

Dean took of his t-shirt and breathed deeply before looking in the mirror. Whatever happened, it wasn't easy on him. The scar on his face was clearly planned and executed with a lot of dedication by someone royaly pissed of at him. It began on the corner of his left eye, a few more inches and he would've been blinded – must've hurt like a motherfucker – from there, it followed his jaw line up until his chin. A quick thought crosses his mind that even so, he was still hot.

And people said that he had low self esteem...

His hands had burns, just as his right arm. Those look like they were a whole new different kind of fun.

His chest was a fucked up map of pain and it only made him wonder, rather grimly, what his back looked like. Claw marks decorated his shoulder and to complete the package, there was this distinct scar right below his ribs. And this one was surgical, 'cause it was pretty obvious that all he needed was some internal injury. Where would be the fun without one of those?

But the wrongest of all – beside everything else – was the thing that wasn't there, the thing that was missing. The tattoo. The anti-possession tattoo wasn't were it should be and it didn't seem to be anywhere else. On its alleged place, maybe a little to the right, near his collar bone was yet another cute display of pain, which strangely looked like a question mark.

He must've fallen down a trash compactor at some point, because it just seemed like too many scars for so little years of living. And he was thin. Just angles of muscles and bones, nearly no flesh. It was the same body he had as a teen, just a little bit more... banged up to hell and back.

Ok, enough with the horror show.

After a girly-me-moment – you know... Showering, shaving, the works – _which Sam would be proud of, if he didn't hate me_, Dean decided to stop felling sorry for himself, and passing that job to someone else.

Time to find Bobby.

* * *

**A.N.:.** ZOMG! Gotta tell ya, this one took like ten years out of my life! Which is so stupid 'cause I already had it writen, but maaaann...

I googled so much stuff to make sure I was doing the spelling right, that now? I'm not sure I can write my own name! So, if there are any spelling craziness, don't even tell me 'cause I'll probably cry!

Any other thing or expression that doesn't make all that much sense blame it on Google and on Hollywood! Kidding, I'm just really, patheticly tired.

Hey, did you guys notice that I used quotations for the dialogue? How cool am I?

Ok, gonna go now! Send me some love and tell your friends about this bitching story!

God, I'm soooo lame.


	3. I'm not a victim, I'm not a freak

_I'm being haunted by a vision_  
_it's like the morning never comes_  
_I feel the burden of confusion_  
_always searching... on the run_

**Somebody Help Me** - Full Blown Rose

* * *

The mere sight of the familiar junkyard relaxed Dean's body completely, a smile almot made an appearence, but the situation still was too fucked up for that.

Making his way to the door, he picked up his cel and, before he even realized what he was doing, dialed Sam's number.

"Sammy?" he whispered to the phone and the call was disconected.

_What the fuck happened to the kid?_

Only then the thought of calling Bobby before showing up with a screwed up face and a pissed brother crossed his mind, but now he was already there.

"Bobby!" he called and knocked.

"Dean?" a familiar rough voice replied from the house.

"Yeah..." the relief was so obvious in his voice, even in that small word.

Dean didn't even realize he was smiling while the door was opening, but it was just for a second, before his expression turned into shear panic.

_What the hell is the deal between this guys and these fucking shotguns?_

The double barrel pointed to his nose told where and how far he should be.

"Bobby?" Dean chanced, in a break of cold sweat;

"Even if I were blind I couldn't miss this shot, boy. You know it."

Dean knew alright. And remembered perfectly the time that Bobby chased John away with that very shotgun. The diference was that then, Dean thought the scene was freaking hilarious in a cartoonish kind of way. Now... not so much.

"Bobby..."

"You better get out of here" Bobby always sounded deadly calm before shooting someone's brains out.

_I better get out of here..._ Mental laughter. Easier said than done, being that in the moment that Dean got a good a chance to peek at how the ammo looked inside the barrel, his legs decided to take some vacation time in Aruba.

"I just wanted to ask one thing!" Dean knew his voice wasn't always that squeeky.

Dean held his breath waiting what would come next and Bobby's expression didn't chage a bit, but at least he seemed willing to listen.

"Why does everyone hate me?"

Not the right question to make, since the shotgun was not only aiming the center of his face, but pushing his nose up, even as he backed away.

"ONE!" Bobby shouted.

Oh, hey! With perfect timing, he got function of his legs again and was running before he even thought of it.

"TWO!"

The chances were small, to the point that they weren't there, but Dean really hoped that Bobby would take the counting up to 50, sadly he knew that it would only go as far as 3, 5 tops, so he ran even faster.

The shot zoomed so cluse to his head that left his ears humming, and he knew it was a warning shot. Despite everything – whatever "everything" was – Bobby didn't want him dead. And in a sick, twisted way Dean was comforted by the fact.

Now he was thoroughly fucked. It wasn't that unusual, but this time it was painfully obvious and... that's that. Not much beyond. No Sam, no Bobby and no way to call dad. Because other than the certainty that dad wouldn't pick up, if Bobby shot to scare him away, dad would shoot to kill.

Dad was a nice guy like that.

It had to be that thing from the door, Dean was sure of it, but didn't even have the time to take a good look, those weird shiny eyes were the only thing that came to mind. It wasn't a ghost, wasn't a demons, and it didn't feel like angel stuff – they usually gave a heads up – and even though it reminded him of the Jinn thing, Dean just couldn't buy that this was some sort of do over, weren't these guys supposed to make the reality _likable_ to the victim? At least make one wish come true? 'Cause, seriously, this reality blows!

He needed something to drink.

Hemlock, maybe.

He needed to hunt.

xo0ox

Three weeks and no answer. Three weeks and no human contact. Three weeks less on his mental healthness life spand and counting.

Dean began to question if the problem wasn't the "now", but the "before". His eyes focused enough to see the bloody creature on the floor. He didn't even know what the fuck was that, Sam was the researcher one.

He scratched his face absentmindedly and soiled his face with dark, thick blood.

Maybe this was his reality and he was such a cold hearted, fucked up bastard, to the point of making his kid brother hate him, that he just made another world up. Were said kid brother was stuck with him and had no other choice than to put up with all his crap. It would be nice to have a brother.

Dean shook his head. He had a brother. He had Sam. The thing was Sam didn't like to think about it.

Rubbing his face, and spreading the blood even more, Dean got up and wiped the ax clean on his pant leg, the dark jeans gaining a wet spot. Three weeks of non-stop hunting, looking for something, _anything_, and finding the same old stuff and no answers. It was useless and he needed to stop. At least fot tonight.

He cleaned his face on his shirt, not caring about the way he looked while walking in the bar, that bitch of a scar ruined everything anyway. Sitting on a stool close to the bar, he ordered a beer.

He didn't even know what day it was. When you're trying to drown in work, that tends to happen, but this time Dean felt it was important, but didn't make a move to clear that out.

The noise from the pool table caught his ears, but it wasn't what he wanted. Girly laughter sounded like little bells across the room, and Dean pondered about sex. Tt could be a good idea, it always cheered him up "before".

But pie also cheered him up.

And it was right there that Dean started to wonder, looking for the exact time when he stopped trying. Hhis body's been on auto-pilot for days, he only ate enought not to pass out, only slept enought not to hallucinate, and that's it.

And like his man Jack in The Shining, all work and no play makes Dean a very homicidal boy. If he was stuck on this shitty hole, he might just as well try to make something out of it.

Dean smiled, glad to pretend he had control over something in this huge mess.

He finished his second beer and started to study the bar, the people and the dumbasses by the pool table, that didn't even know they were dumbasses yet. In this reality Dean's body could handle more alcohol than he thought possible and that, in some level, was preety alarming. He always could handle enough on his own.

And though he was still pretty lost on this life, and had no clue why he atracted so much hate, the body seemed to know some things, knee jerk reactions to stuff that had already happened, even if not to the current Dean inhabiting.

But the one thing that both – Dean and the body – had in common, other than the love for the Impala and the dedication to the hunt, was their innate talent as con artists.

Dean was still giving himself mental praise and making plans, but his legs were already half way to the table. _One day_, Dean thought distantly, watching his body acting faster than him, _we'll be and kickass team..._

He wasn't really that drunk, but pretending came naturaly. Laughing loudly and diturbing the game was enough to bring the attention of both players to him, but no so much that they would want to kick his ass.

People drank too caugh up on themselves, the soft light left almost every face in the shadows, the voices were loud, but mixed with to the jukebox music, sounded muffled. Smoke, booze and laughter. Dean ran his eyes through the place trying to look inocently drunk and distracted, and enjoying the presence of a whole bunch of people that didn't wanna kill him. Not _now_, at least.

Well, to be fair, a lot of girls checked him out occasionally, most just looked kinda scared, but this one... This girl always face him every time Dean's eyes strolled by her. Not staring really, nor looking away embarassed to be caught, definitely not flerting. It seemed that the mere fact that the hunter looked at her, atracted her brown eyes.

Weird.

Weirder than the spider looking thing – that had the size of a Volkswagen Beetle – that he killed with an umbrella last week, but not as weird as Sam's hatred. In a scale of 1 to 10, it scored a 7. Always the same chick. She would keep looking at him for a couple of moments, until something the tall, dumb looking jackass would say to her made her smile and turn away from Dean's green eyes.

There was something fishy there, Dean couldn't put his finger on it.

"Hey, man" one of the guys from the pool table called and Dean decided to name him 'No-Teeth Hillbilly' "Wanna play?"

Dean scratched his face and blinked owlishly.

"I don't know..."

"Oh, c'mon!" the other guy, who from now on will be known as 'Bald Hillbilly', cheered on "We know you wanna play a little!"

At that, Dean almost lost it, was it just him or did Bald Hillbilly just eyed his crotch a little too long?

When he thought life couldn't get any weirder...

"Ok"

He lost the first game, won the second by a few, lost the third by a few and double that and you'll get what he drank. Both hillbillys were finally getting interested in making things a little bit more interesting. And while Dean was talking 'bout money Baldy seemed to apreciate his ass a little too much.

And the hunter just couldn't find it in him to be mad at the poor fat bald guy.

_I'm just too hot for my own good._

The hillbillys began to whiper something or the other about the bet, meanwhile Dean was still makin one hell of a job pretending to be zoomed out, until his eyes dropped to a newspaper on top of one of the many tables around.

How was it possible that he went on for three god damn weeks without finding _that_ out?

He pulled the first page, letting all the other fall to the ground, and stared at the date for what seemed like forever. Four years. He went back four years in time! It clearly explained why he looked younger, why Sam looked younger. It didn't explai why he had that all beaten to hell look, but still... Four years.

"You gonna play or what, pretty boy?"

It was a pretty hardcore effort not to let his shoulders shake in disgust, but Dean stumbled back to the pool table.

Before he broke the game, his eyes met the same girl again. And there was no doubt that her smile was directed at him. Meybe he should go over there after finishing up with Dumb and Dumber here.

Three whole games and 450 bucks later, Dean was pretty happy with himself. He couldn't push his strike of luck too far, it would wear off any time soon and he would be all in deep shit just like before.

"Gonna go over there, be right back" he mumbled pointing to the bathroom.

Four years, four years, FOUR FREAKING YEARS! The words kept hammering and echoing in his brain. When he spoke to Sam, kid brother did talk about Jessica as if her death had just happened, but at the time, it didn't seem like that big a deal to Dean.

And that came back to bite him in the ass, didn't it?

Ok, so whatever the hell he did to make everyone hate him happened way before he had guessed. It would be nice to figure out what it was.

A noise from the bathroom door woke him up from the daydreaming and zip his pants up a lot faster. Body's reaction, not his. And isn't that fucked up? What could this body possibly have been through to get all worked up over a door clicking closed?

On a second thought, he didn't really wanna know.

"Aren't you coming back, handsome?" Bald Hillbilly asked in a sultry voice and this time, Dean didn't even try to pretend he wasn't about to throw up.

"Yeah... Ahm... I'm gonna go"

"But I'm here now" Baldy kept talking "what about-"

"Haha" Dean laughed loud and ackwardly "I'm not into that kinda stuff!"

Instead of backing off, Baldy took a step foward and there went Dean's chance of walking away with the money and unnoticed.

Even after punching Bald Hillbilly's face until he too had no teeth, Dean still felt shivers of disgust running up his spine. He didn't think it was possible, but this reality both sucks and blows!

Not bothering to keep up the façade in front of the other drunk sons of bitches, he walked by, surprisingly sober and ridiculously fast.

"Hey, man! Another game?" No-Teeth/No-Clue Hillbilly called out and Dean just growled an answer.

In the past three weeks he barely slept two hours, and though tonight wasn't looking up, Dean needed to get the hell out of there and go home – which now wasn't so bad, all the money he made hustling pool would be spent only in food and gas. And booze.

Figuring out he had gone back four years and sufering an atempted rape on the same night was just so not what he needed right now. Sure, Baldy didn't even touch him, but he ment to, so Dean felt molested already.

Wow... He sounded exactly like a girl.

Fishing the Impala keys from his pocket, Dean locked his jaw and controlled his step, trying really hard not run.

His girl had a silver beam of holy light coming from the sky, shining down on her, but the moment was short lived, voices ruined everything.

"Oh, c'mon, baby..." a male drunk voice slurred.

"Get lost!" a female voice shouted, sounded pretty pissed of.

"What is it? If I had a lether jacket and pouty bitch lips like the blond guy in there you would go for it, wouldn't you?"

"For the love of God... Leave me alone... Leave the guy alone! Go home, already! Geez!"

Dean noticed that his steps got slower after the argument started. His hunter senses tingling.

"C'mon, babe..." the drunk whined and Dean could almost hear the girl's eyes rolling.

"I'm not you babe."

"Right, you're a bitch! If I was that guy in there, you'd be my babe!"

"Oh yeah..." she lowered her voice to a seductive tone "Dark blond hair, amazing green eyes, leather jacket and pouty lips as you so well put it..." she sighed loudly "_And_ he totally kicked your brother's asses in pool!"

Unbelievable! Dean didn't even talk to any woman in there and still got a couple arguing about him! That's gotta be some sort of record! This reality may be freaky as hell, but he still was Dean Winchester and his mojo was kicking ass just as usual. And now that he was thinking about it, it was pretty bizare that there was an entire family of hillbilly creeps. Was jackassness genetic?

"But I was the one who got the girl..."

"Get off! What the...? Get off of me, you jerk!"

Oh, fuck... Dean was standing by the car door, if he had stoped with the easedroping, he would be at home by now. Sleeping. Or pretendind to sleep, wich at this point was just as good, but now he had to drag his ass over there and break the fight up, because he had a conscience and some moral, even though he really tried to ignore them sometimes.

Dragging his feet through the pavement, he found the source of the screaming. The thing is, it wasn't just a girl throwing a fit over the drunkness of her boyfriend. Not even a drunk boyfriend having a jealousy fit over Dean's good looks – which were a perfect reason to have a jealousy fit, in Dean's opinion. He was _that_ hot – you know why it wasn't any of those things? Because then it would be easy.

The girl had her back presses against the bar's back wall, her feet barely touching the ground and even so she kicked and kept fighting him off with all her strength, but the lack of oxigen made her weaker and the liquor made him stronger.

The guy was strangling the girl with his bare hands.

"HEY!" Dean yelled running towards them.

The girl's eyes openned and stared at him, completely terrified.

Dean knew he was moving as fast as he could, but everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. When the drunk fuck was finally in the reach of his arm, the girl's eyes had already rolled to the back of her head in a eery way and closed.

At the sight of that, everything went back full speed. Dean pulled the drunk son of a bitch by the shirt and punched his face as hard as he could manage in such a short distance, it was more than necessary, dude fell on his ass.

"What are you doing?" drunk fuck asked completely doumbfounded.

Dean's blood boiled.

"What am I doing?" Dean shouted, kicking any and all parts of the motherfucker that his legs could reach "What _am I_ doing?"

The last kick hit the motherfucking asshole square in the jaw making a awesome, loud _CRACK._

"Get out of here" Dean ordered, deceptively calm "Get the hell away from here before I change my mind."

Drunk bitch just sat there, holding his jaw looking like complete jerk.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

And with that tiny push, the guy picked himself up from the floor in an impressive show of speed for someone who just had his ass handed over to him.

Dean tryed to keep his mouth shut, just not really hard.

"Run, Forest! RUN!"

Demons he got, people were crazy.

He turned his attention back to the girl who was still on the floor, legs in a ackward angle, a hand grabing her shirt, the other one suporting her weight while her lung gasped for so much needed air.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling by her side.

At first her eyes showed a little recognition and Dean realized it was the same girl he kept switching glances in the bar, but in the next instant all the recognition was gone and in its place was just a blank stare.

Her body went soft, though her eyes never looked away from his.

"Hey, hey!" Dean exclaimed, catching her in his arms "What's wrong?"

Her trembling finger rose slowly and touched his face in a light caress, Dean was so unused to that kind of touch that grew even more worried.

"Oh God..." the girl whispered suddenly.

Dean let out a sigh of such relief that his eyes closed for a second.

"It's alright" he rubbed her arms, in an attempt of comfort "I've got you" not knowing what to do next, he took of her jacket and covered the girl's still shaking shoulders.

"But who's got you?" she asked in a low voice and Dean frowned.

"What?"

She stared at him so intensly that Dean was sure that those brown eyes with flecks of gold could see his soul, or at least something beyond his own eyes. He had the slight impression that her eyes were watering, but on the next second her arms were around his neck and hugging him so hard, he fell down on his ass.

"You shouldn't be alone..." she sounded muffled by his shirt "All that you did for him and he doesn't even know! He thinks you hate him! You shouldn't be alone."

Dean grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away enough to see her face.

"Who are you?'

"Daphne" she answered promptly "I think that...You're the brother of my brother in law... Or was... Because my sister isn't with your brother anymore... But it's not like she dumped him or anything! I mean... She died... But your brother is still alive. Yeah... That's it."

If before his hunter instincts were tingling, now they were on overdrive and malfunctioning, Dean started to reconsider the possibility of having lost his mind a long time ago.

"What are you?"

"I'm nothing! I mean, I'm nothing supernatural..." she looked as lost as he felt, but Dean knew it didn't really mean anything "Why did I see all that?"

"All that what?"

The girl, Daphne, or whatever, closed her eyes, but still sounded woozy when she started talking.

"When we looked at eachother, I saw everything! I saw when Sam lost his first tooth and you put it in your wallet, I even know where it would be in your wallet! I saw every night you spent awake because you were so hungry you couldn't eat, but still you made sure Sam ate something. I saw the first girl you kissed, she was blond and wore glasses, but you told her glasses are sexy. I saw when you lost your virginity in the back seat of that car" she pointed to the Impala "The girl was-"

"Allright! ALRIGHT!" Dean shouted, completely embarrassed.

He felt his ears burning in shame.

_What the fuck is this?_

* * *

**A/N**.:. Buenos dias, bitches!

I'm like... pulling an Ash, don't be mad! Ok, I was pretty lazy on this chapter and didn't check the spelling at all, so, sorry in advance! In my defense, I had to change a whole bunch of stuff because it's amazing how many words you guys have to sum up an entire situation! In portuguese I wrote a paragraph, then translated it to a sentence.

So I had to step up my game to make a full, cool chapter. Hope you guys like it!

And don't hate Daphne! It's not what you think! At least I don't think it's what you're all thinking... Well... You guys can tell me what you're thinking by clicking on that button down there!

Yeah, it was a lame attempt to ask for reviews, but I really want to know what you think!

Oh yeah! And I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed so far! It helped me a lot and made me think that maybe this whole translation thing wasn't such a bad idea after all!


	4. but I'm choking on a fishbone

_Head over heels and it's making me nervous_  
_Get on my knees and it's making me worse_  
_There's no way out so I pay lip-service_  
_If this thing is bigger than the both of us_

_If you could just walk for a mile in my shoes_  
_If you don't lose your mind you got no mind to lose_

**Burnout** - Def Leppard

* * *

Everything was happening so fast!

After weeks of absolutely nothing at all, which was weird, but made sense in a slightly ironic way.

Anyway, Dean decided to sit on the surprisingly comfortable couch in his living room and take it slow for a little while, maybe even slow enough for him to understand what the hell was going on, starting with a few questions for this Daphne character.

"Let me go NOW!"

Apparently she wasn't such a fan of this plan. Maybe if she wasn't tied she wouldn't scream all that much, oh if there only was a way of knowing that…

"So you wanna leave?" he shrugged and rubbed his eyes in a mixture of tiredness and boredom "Why so soon? I've got all night."

"To do what? Stare at me?"

"That too, you're kinda cute all tied up like that. Maybe later I'll add a gag, but before that, you have to answer some questions" she locked her jaw, so Dean added "Then you can leave."

"Oh really? _Really?_" one would hope that she'd get scared, but… "You tied me up to a chair in the middle of a Devil's Trap, gave me a holy water bath, shoved salt down my throat, gave me this HUGE cut my arm with silver, exorcized me not once, but twice, _TWICE_ and all I have to do is answer some questions?"

One would _really_ hope she'd get scared, but the truth is Daphne looked more and more pissed off. And it was all such a huge pile of crap. And drama. Okay, he had to admit, he did tie the miniature version of Patricia Arquette to a chair in the middle of a devil's trap, but what did she expect? These were hard times!

Plus the bath and the shoving salt thing, oh, come on… She wasn't exactly dry and might have some kidney issues down the road, but still, what a fucking drama queen.

Dean twirled the knife – the same one he used to make the cut on her arm – between his fingers and whatever Daphne had to say next died on her lips. She wrinkled her nose and swallowed hard. Was that… fear?

"Are you calm yet?"

She didn't answer.

"I don't want you to stop talking, I just want you to say the right words!"

Still, nothing.

"After all the testing I did, I already know half the stuff you're not, but I still need to find out what you are!"

"What for? So you can kill me?" funny how, now, she was too scared to sound as mad as she wanted to, so the question was more of a shriek.

"Well… yeah!" her eyes almost bugged out of her head "I mean, it depends on what you are."

"I'm human!" she seemed on the verge of tears "Always was! I have a mother, a father, I had a sister-"

"Jessica" he finished for her in a cynical tone she failed to notice.

"Yes!" Daphne almost smiled with relief "You got to meet her, right?"

"She's dead."

Daphne looked away for an instant and it felt like the conversation was over.

Ok. That was a low blow. Especially if what she's saying is true, then he was a complete asshole. With a sigh, Dean leaned his body forward, elbows on his knees, closer and closer to Daphne, who backed as further away as she could, trying her best to become part of the chair.

Dean stopped and tried to figure out her expression.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

First she arched her brow, and her face seemed designed to make other people feel stupid, then shot a quick look to her own tied hands, but ended up letting it go "Because I know what you can do."

"But if you really saw my" he cleared his throat and did air quotes "_memories…_"

"I did!"

"You should know that I kill the supernatural, I wouldn't hurt humans."

"Yeah… I know."

"So, if you're a human, why are you afraid of me?"

Daphne's knee began to shake and she bit her lips, trying to hold back the words " Do you think I'm human?"

"No. I don't."

"Then what chance do I have?"

Dean sat back on the couch, sinking his body in the middle of the cushions and noticed how she was giving him this… look. Apparently she got mad every time he got comfy. Crazy bitch.

"But you're right" she said, flexing her fingers, the ropes were cutting her circulation "Jessica's dead. You were there when it happened, weren't you?"

Dean ignored the question and moved quickly ahead, thrusting his knife on the high back of the chair, right next to her eyes, which closed instantly. "How did you get inside my head like that?"

"I don't know…"

"How did you see my memories?"

"I don't know!"

"How did you bring me here?"

"No!" her eyes snapped open, wide "I didn't do that!"

"Yeah…" he laughed "Sure you didn't."

With her face down, Daphne closed her eyes tightly and started to mumble to herself. Dean was about to break the news that inside that trap, none of that spell crap was going to work – oh, shit… He hoped she wasn't a freaking witch – but as he got closer, he found that the words were saying something else entirely.

"Are you praying?" she didn't say anything, head still down "You think that throwing a Hail Mary on me, I'm gonna feel oh-so-sorry for you and let you go?"

"My God!" Daphne shouted "I don't even know how this happened! It's not like I walk around taking a peek at other people's memories!"

"Oh, so you're trying to tell me you didn't do anything?"

"No" she sighed, trying to find the right words "it's just that I… I have this… abilities" Dean waited for her to keep going "I can find out what people are feeling if I want, sometimes I don't even have to try if what they're feeling is too strong or if I'm close enough"

"So you were monitoring me through this whole conversation?"

She did the arching brow thing again, this time with a tinge of disbelief, when she heard the word 'conversation', Dean could relate, maybe 'conversation' wasn't the right way to call this, he just didn't care.

"Not really, no. I had to learn how to shut it off, you know?"

"No"

"Shut up. It's like constant whispering, pulsing in my head all of the time… If I didn't learn how to block it out, I would've gone mad. But you? You were screaming"

"If I recall correctly, you were the one doing the screaming"

"Not literally…" her head tiredly lolled on the back of the chair, though she sounded pissy "Remember when you were 'bout 22? You were with Sam in a forest, actually he was huddled behind a bush and you were waiting for your father to come back while watching the lower body of this creepy thing… Your father was supposed to kill the rest of the thing, but he let it _fly_ away – which was particularly disgusting – and you had to deal with the-"

"Manananggal" Dean finished for her, feeling numb.

"Yeah, that's it! But before you could kill the top part, it hit you near the ribs and no one noticed. You almost passed out with the pain at least twice and still no one noticed. You were screaming, out of pain, out of fear, even anger over the fact that nobody even saw what was going on, but you didn't make a sound… That's exactly what I'm talking about."

He had never, _never_ told anyone about that.

The manananggal was gross, but in the most literal way possible. It was disgustingly gross. A monster who feeds on babies still inside their mother's womb, deforming children's faces or bodies… It looks like a middle aged woman, a very beautiful one at that, but when the night falls, it turns back to its true form and splits in half. The bottom stays hidden in the forest while the top part flies to the houses with huge bat wings. If it can't put the two parts together by sunrise, it dies. Sounds easy, but it doesn't mean that the bitch isn't fighsty.

Dean handled her all by himself while John went on a wild goose chase, when the old man got back, he went ballistic with him and Sam for taking so long to bury the remains. Sam bitched about getting the hell out of there. Dean thought the kid meant the forest and couldn't agree more, the next day, Sammy told him he had gotten into Stanford.

He still had the scar the manananggal gave him, until Castiel got him out of hell, that is.

"How did you- Who told yo- You saw all that."

"I wasn't the one that brought you here, Dean…" Daphne said firmly "But I think all of this happened so that I could help you."

"How?"

"That, I don't know yet."

xo0ox

Dean settled on the floor, in front of Daphne's legs and felt an almost morbid pleasure in taking 'bout 40 minutes to cut the ropes that bound her.

"So… You"

"Me"

"a civilian that never even threw a punch in her whole life-"

"Oh, you think that just 'cause I had a sister that we got along just peachy? Punches have been thrown!"

"_Not even a single punch. _And that only found out that the boogie man is real 'cause she's been snooping around"

"You know I didn't mean to do that!"

"that prayed a Hail Mary when she thought I was going to hurt her…"

"You drink, I pray, we all cope the best way we can- OW! Watch it with that knife!"

Daphne shot daggers at him with her eyes, but Dean shrugged. It was just a tiny cut. Another one.

"I have no idea how you could ever help me. I think the best you can do is stay away."

"But Dean-"

"And who were you praying for? No, dude, seriously. Are you sure that _my_ memories were the ones you saw? 'Cause, I don't know if you noticed, but the angels I know are a bunch of sick-"

"You could teach me!"

"fucks! Wait, what?"

This time the knife nicked her knee. This time he didn't mean to do that.

"Oh, man! Could you stop slicing and dicing me?" she whined, rubbing the wound, but Dean jumped up, with a whole different set of a lot more important worries than a tiny bleed.

"You want me to teach you… what exactly?"

"To hunt, to exorcize, learn how to say the name of that slimy yucky thing you killed in the forest…"

"Manananggal. And you're crazy."

"Could you just cut me lose? I'm one of those people who talk with their hands."

With one fluid motion of Dean's hand, Daphne's own hands were free. She frowned.

"Why didn't you do that before?"

"Look, Diana…"

"Daphne."

"Whatever. I'm sorry for Jessica, I really am, and that's exactly why I can't be babysitting a girl. I don't want your blood on my hands."

Daphne stood up, rubbing her numb writs with vacant eyes. Dean stepped back, waiting to see what she would do next, following her every move: the way she flexed her fingers, or pushed hair away from her face. It was a while before she spoke again.

"Jessica and I had a special connection." she glanced in Deans direction waiting for some kind of comment, when nothing was said, she went on "Of course we fought all of the time, but… When one needed any help, the other would always know" her smile was nostalgic "One day, I just couldn't stop thinking about her, it was like I knew something was about to happen, when I called, she invited me to go to Stanford, to check for myself that everything was fine and to meet her perfect boyfriend" she laughed almost silently "I wanted to go that same instant, but we ended up making plans for the next week. It had been almost a year since we last saw each other. Two days after that I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling my body on fire, drenched in sweat, I don't even know how long it lasted, but it ended just as suddenly as it began, in spite of that, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That she had died." not being able to face him, Daphne sat down on the couch and stretched her legs "It wasn't my fault, it wasn't anyone's fault really, but I felt so bad for not being there, for staying away from my sister for so long… If I had just gone there, maybe she would still be alive now. There's no way I'm ignoring this feeling again and letting something like that happen to you."

Dean sat on the opposite side of the couch "She might've lived" he agreed "Or the both of you could've ended up dead"

Instead of throwing the fit that he – honestly – expected, Daphne glanced at him through the corners of her eyes, her lips curling up as she fought a smile.

"You don't believe me, do you?" she began to scratch her nose slowly, trying to hide her smiling mouth, he just arched an eyebrow "I felt a wave of disbelief coming from you, sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"Can you prove it?"

All humor vanished from her expression "What? That I knew my sister had died?"

"No, gifted child. That she was your sister."

Her jaw fell "You're kidding, right? That's all you wanted?" no, that wasn't _all_ he wanted, but it was good a start "Just check my purse!"

Purse? He was busy conducting a questioning! And making it look easy! Of course he didn't notice Daphne had a purse, but there it was on the floor, by the door.

Dean turned her purse upside down and scattered all the items on top of the table, pretending not to hear the loud high pitched sound Daphne made, probably as a form of protest – but that made dogs howl and bats hit trees – he also chose to ignore the 'You're gonna break my glasses' complaint.

Her wallet was in black leather with a white silhouette of a girl. He was pretty sure that it was that classic mudflap girl. Without a word, he shot her a look.

"What?" she asked, sulking "It was a gift!"

In her I.D. the name was Daphne Ann Moore, with a picture of said girl in braided pigtails, lips pressed to a tense line and eyes looking a little over to the right of the camera.

"You look weird in this"

"I was 15, fuck you."

"Oh, so now that you're not tied up anymore, you decided to get creative with words, huh? I can fix that" Dean wiggled one of the ropes in front of her face.

Daphne lifted her hands in a sign of surrender and rolled her eyes, leaning back even further on the couch "Just keep looking…"

Very pleased with himself, Dean turned his attention back to the wallet and found a folded picture, but the blue eyes shown there were unmistakable. The blond hair was shorter and lighter than he remembered and the face was sunburnt, but it was a younger version of Jessica, without a doubt. Right next to her was Daphne, with her darker hair made up in big curls, her face just as tan as her sister's, with a lot of freckles on her nose. Both their smiles were huge, and surprisingly similar to each other. There was no denying they were sisters.

"You had freckles?"

That was just a polite question, something to start a conversation. A regular conversation. Honest. Just a chance to do some small talk, but she frowned.

"Actually those were chicken pox scars… They faded."

Dean nodded. He imagined what Sam would say of all of this. Not the crazy ass dickhead, but Sam _Sam_, the real one.

It didn't matter how hard he tried, he couldn't picture his brother's reaction. His mind's voice would only go as far as repeating 'Dean!' in a disapproving manner.

All right, he was a believer now, but had no idea what to do with the girl. There was no way to bring her with him, he had more than enough problems on his own, but to just leave her there? A drunk guy attacked her not that long ago, and a total jerk had just tried to exorcize her. Twice.

"Ahm… Could you lend me a sweater or something?" Daphne asked, bringing Dean out of his musing.

"What?"

"As much as I know that it was extremely necessary, it doesn't mean that I'm not drenched in holy water, you know? I'm cold."

In some level, Dean knew that a brilliant idea should've come from that sentence, it felt like a word you can't remember, though you felt it just on the tip of your tongue.

"Okay… Pick up your stuff and I'll take you home to get some clothes."

When she didn't even move, he lifted his eyes. "What is it?"

"Are you serious?"

Dean shrugged "Yup."

"Because it doesn't sound like you're serious"

"Look, if I'm not gonna get rid of you as soon as I want to, there is just no way I'm lending you my stuff"

She narrowed her eyes and leaned in his direction.

"Daphne? Are you trying to get in my head?"

"No"

"Get the hell out of my head!"

"You suck!"

"And you suck so much as a liar that it hurts. It physically hurts." which right that moment was great. Not the pain. Pain bad. Her inability to lie that was just perfect.

xo0ox

Inside the car, Daphne was curled up on the further end of the seat, a little bit more and she would be hanging out of the window.

"Careful not to wet the upholstery"

"S-sorry if m-my mis-sery bugs y-you"

"Yeah. It's really disturbing."

They stayed silent for a couple of minutes before Dean turned the radio on and immediately his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"What the fuck is that?" he grumbled way louder than he meant to.

"Paula Cole and there's n-nothing wrong with her" Daphne spoke to the window glass, rubbing her arms for warmth.

"You know that?" sliding his fingers throughout the panel, he turned the hot air on and found her eyes glued to his hand.

"It's the Dawson's Creek song"

He blinked.

"Song from what in the who?"

A tired eye roll was her way of answering.

"So, where we're heading?"

"I'm staying at this hotel, you just gotta make a turn at…" she looked around and pursed her lips "Actually I don't know. Where are we?"

"You don't know?"

"It's kinda hard to learn the way when you're tied up in the back seat, Dean."

"Oh yeah… Good times."

The silence got heavy before Dean spoke up again "So, are you gonna tell me why you're living in a hotel?"

With just a glance through the corners of her eyes, Daphne shrugged and stretched her fingers closer to the hot air.

"Fine by me, you can always walk there" Dean said in a light tone point to the street through the windshield.

"Just 'cause you're the good guy doesn't mean that I have to like you, ok?"

"Meaning?"

"I _know_ you're the good guy, I saw that, but in this specific moment? I don't like you. And I know you don't care about me, so yeah. I live in a hotel, what's it to you?"

And that's how you finish a conversation in 40 words or less.

Daphne stared out the window and wasn't shaking anymore, but her expression was sour. Occasionally her eyes wondered towards Dean, giving him a once over, but the second he threatened to move, the inspection was over.

He simply hated all the attention she was spending on him, but in a rare moment of kindness – that kind that makes you feel guilty if you ignore it – Dean decided to let her enjoy the sight of him. Or whatever.

Still he got to the glove compartment and pulled one of the cassette tapes from there and, without even checking the name, pushed it into the tape deck. Only to make it clear that, whatever the fuck is going on right now, he was the one in charge. And fuck Paula Cole.

The song that should have blasted out the speakers in familiar guitar riffs, classic melodies and voices that couldn't come from a person without a mullet – or something even worse passing of as hair – was replaced by… by…

"What in ever loving fuck is _that_?" Dean asked the radio itself, expecting nothing less than an answer that explained what kind of a sick joke was that.

"Is that Duran Duran?" Daphne wasn't sure if she should be laughing her ass off or worrying about his mental state, though an annoying smile played on her lips.

"No!" Dean announced, horrified with the idea, but then again… "Who is Duran Duran again?"

"Well… Those guys" she pointed to the radio and shrugged.

If Daphne felt sorry for Dean when his face twisted in pain – musical pain, that is – she didn't show at all. In fact she seemed to find all of this very amusing.

"Oh man… I hate this place" he groaned, picking up the tape and throwing it out the window of the moving car.

xo0ox

"Is this it?" Dean peeked through the windshield.

"Yeah" Daphne nodded, getting out of the car. She was already by the front door when she turned "Aren't you coming?"

She was right. He should get out of the car and follow her, go into the hotel to make sure she'd be alright – out of instinct of course, since there was simply no way Daphne was in any danger – and even to try and convince the deranged chick not to bring a bunch of useless junk and seven huge suitcases, but… There was something buggin the hell out of him, like he should've had the most obvious idea. The damn word on the tip of the tongue. The friggin name you wanna remember, but can't.

"Look…" she sighed, and looked up, a tad bored "I'm going in, the door will be open, ok? Don't go anywhere without me"

That's it! Her little joke in the end there finally made Dean's mind snap into the most obvious thing ever. It was so damn obvious he felt like banging his head against the steering wheel.

Instead, he smiled.

"Go on then. No hurries."

Daphne frowned for an instant, confused and seriously suspicious, and Dean added quickly "I know I said 'no hurries', but could you skip the part where you try to get inside my head and just go inside. The hotel, I mean."

"You're such a dick!" she bitched loudly while disappearing into the bedroom.

Almost simultaneously, Dean backed the car all the way to the street and the tires screeched as he went away. He didn't look in the rearview mirror, even when he heard Daphne screaming for him to wait and to come back.

It was the best for her. It was the best for _him_. And after all, Winchester men always function better when alone, right?

His eyes shifted to the empty shotgun seat, then he rubbed his face and chose another tape from the glove compartment.

Def Leppard. Maybe not all was lost.

* * *

**A/N.:.** Hey, I'm back! It's been a really long time and for that, I'm sorry. But I had my reasons and they're all bad and sappy so I'm not gonna whine about it.

What I _can_ bitch about is the fact that my PC went haywire and I lost a huge chunk of the story. It was kinda good in a way, 'cause now I can see the silly plot mistakes I made before, but fixing those mistakes and making everything happen is way harder, since I'm wrinting and translating almost simultaneously so you guys don't have to wait this long again.

Ok, I think I've bitched enough, sorry for the delay, hope you guys like it!

Reviews are very much appreciated, so do it. Now.


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